


deep in the woods

by blackkat



Series: Jango/Fay prompts [5]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Bargaining, F/M, Fae & Fairies, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25488796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “She doesn’t have a name,” Asajj says, a cool warning, and comes to a stop right beyond the line where the forest starts. “So don’t bother asking her for one. It will just get you turned into a toad.”
Relationships: Jango Fett/Fay (Star Wars)
Series: Jango/Fay prompts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941700
Comments: 14
Kudos: 383





	deep in the woods

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Jango/Fay, where Fay is actually *fae*! Modern AU, Jango goes to the fae to save his son, only Fay isn't like the Dark Fae/Sith, and willingly helps Jango. Adopts Boba and teaches him magic while Jango squints suspiciously and halfway in love

“She doesn’t have a name,” Asajj says, a cool warning, and comes to a stop right beyond the line where the forest starts. “So don’t bother asking her for one. It will just get you turned into a toad.”

Jango eyes Asajj, then the freestanding stone archway, the wooden gate within it. He doesn’t need all of his years as a hunter to know a dangerous place, and there's no way that gate leads anywhere benign. But—

Dooku has Boba. Jango _can't_ turn away now.

“And you’re warning me about her?” he asks, suspicious.

Asajj gives him a cruel smile, a reminder that whatever she was originally, she’s a changeling now. “Call it the last remnants of sentiment,” she drawls, and turns on her heel. “The Count won't hear of this from me, but you’d best move quickly, Huntsman. His eyes are everywhere.”

And Boba is in his hands. Jango breathes in, breathes out, and nods shortly as she passes him. “Thanks,” he says.

“I’ll have you make it up to me eventually,” Asajj retorts. “Assuming you survive, of course.”

Encouraging, Jango thinks, and doesn’t watch her leave. He steps forward instead, beneath the tangled boughs of the trees, and puts a hand on the gate’s latch. It’s silver, not iron, which is probably to be expected, but it lifts easily at Jango's tug. The gate swings open, perfectly silent, and Jango steels himself and steps through.

It’s pretty, on the other side. Definitely not like the dark, dramatic landscapes Jango's gotten used to in his work for the Unseelie. There's none of the neatness of Seelie lands, either, though—the whole place is wild, ancient, with a weight to it like eyes in the night. Not hostile, exactly, but certainly not harmless, either.

There's a path, more or less. It looks more like a deer trail than anything meant for humans, but Jango knows an invitation when he sees one, or maybe a temptation. Either way, he takes it, pushing under low-hanging branches and carefully stepping over the small streams that vein the forest. There are wildflowers growing everywhere, and irises, pale gold and gleaming with a strange light.

Jango takes particular care not to even _breathe_ too hard on those.

By the time the path starts to open out and the trees thin a little, the sun is setting, a golden and violet twilight settling over the wood. It makes Jango's skin prickle with the instinctive knowledge that he’s in danger, that something big and deadly is waiting just out of sight, ready to pounce.

“I just want to make a deal,” Jango says out loud, and his voice echoes oddly through the forest noises. “That’s the only reason I'm intruding.”

“A deal?” a voice says behind him, and Jango twitches hard, spins with one hand on his knife—

And stops dead, frozen in the gaze of the small woman just emerging from a thicket of willows around a small pool. She looks almost like one of the Seelie, in the same way a lion looks almost like a cat, and she’s dressed in white and pale cream, with wildflowers woven into her long brown hair. Like most of the fae Jango's dealt with, she’s so lovely that it hurts to look at her, but—this isn't the sunshine beauty of most fae. It’s just as wild as her wood, with an edge of something predatory in the lines of her face, the grey of her eyes. She studies Jango closely, interestedly, and it feels a little like being a mouse under the gaze of a hawk.

“A deal,” Jango says, finally managing to find his tongue. “Whatever you want in return for your help.”

The fae shifts her basket to her hip, tilting her head. The blue marks around her eye catch the sunlight, and for a moment Jango can't look away, doesn’t even _want_ to. He isn't sure how much of it is regular attraction and how much of it is glamour, either.

“That’s a dangerous deal, Huntsman,” she says, and grey eyes slide past Jango, focusing on the lengthening shadows around them. “Jon. He’s no threat.”

 _Shit_.

Jango jerks back, hand going tight around his knife, even if he remembers not to draw it just in time. The fae behind him, a shadow in a dark, concealing cloak, pulls back, but he stops just a few paces away, clearly waiting.

“Jon,” the woman says, amused more than chiding. “Check the borders for me? Tyrannus’s spies are so fond of our wood.”

“Yes, Fay,” the shadow says, and then he’s gone, a ripple of darkness the only sign of his passage.

Wildfae, Jango thinks, and has to remind himself to breathe evenly. Wildfae scare even the Courts. There's a reason Jango decided to try his luck with them, rather than one of the Seelie or Unseelie factions.

Steeling himself, Jango turns back to the woman. Fay, Jon called her, which is potentially the most frightening thing about her. Fae so old they only have nicknames left are…dangerous. Even more so than the regular ones.

“Yes,” he says, as measured as he’s capable of. “I'm aware of what I'm offering. But I need help.”

Fay considers him for a long moment, then carefully, gently sets her basket down at her feet. “You do,” she says, and it’s not a question. “Your heart has been taken, Huntsman.”

“Yes,” Jango agrees, raw, because it’s true enough. He woke from a drugged sleep and found Boba _gone_ , a changeling left in his place. An _Unseelie_ changeling, and that can only mean one thing.

The child is fine. Jango wouldn’t murder an innocent for getting caught up in Dooku's games. But Jango _needs_ his son back, and he has no way to challenge a fae as powerful as Dooku except by seeking help from another fae.

Fay steps forward, silent over the grass, and moves right into Jango's space. Pauses there, looking up at him, and she looks delicate, but the same way a rapier looks delicate. Jango can't quite breathe as she studies him, and then slowly, deliberately rises up and cups his cheek in her hand.

“You’ve killed my kind before, Jango,” she says. “Why ask for help, knowing you could be killed for it?”

Jango laughs, raw in his throat. “Because even if you kill me, you’ll honor the deal,” he says. “You’ll save Boba. And that’s all I need.”

“I will save him,” Fay promises, and Jango's breath leaves him on a rush. It makes Fay smile, blue lips curving, and she pulls him down. “But will you pay my price, Jango?”

“Anything,” Jango says, and means it. Servitude, or death, or eternal torment—he’ll take it gladly if it means Boba's freedom.

Humor flickers, warms. Fay turns her hand, brushing her knuckles lightly over his cheek, and says, “Very well. In return for the rescue and continued safety of your son, Jango, I demand a kiss.”

Jango freezes, but for an entirely different reason this time. That’s not a deal at all. It’s a fae’s version of offering a service without a debt attached, one small thing that has no value for something without price, and Jango—Jango has no idea what to do with that.

“What?” he demands, close to angry as he draws himself up. “ _Why_?”

Fay raises a brow at him, and there's twilight tangled in her hair, sinking into the wildflowers in her robes. “Because I can,” she says. “Because you need help and I can provide it. Not every price has to be something dear, Jango. Sometimes help is freely given.”

Not in Jango's experience. _Never_ in Jango's experience. His breath rattles as it leaves his lungs, and he grabs her before he can stop himself, hauls Fay in and up against him. Wraps an arm around her, the hollow ache in his chest awash in something bright after far too long, and says, “Deal.”

Fay's hand is gentle on his shoulder, and her hair is soft against his hand. She smells like wildflowers, and there's a golden iris tucked behind one of her pointed ears. Jango hangs on to her like she’s going to vanish with the light and take their deal with her, but—

Fay tilts her head, and Jango takes her mouth without hesitation, a deep, bruising kiss that’s all his thanks and all his grief and all his joy. Feels the hitch of her breath, the flicker of surprise in the curl of those long fingers, and deepens the kiss. Tightens his arm until she’s pressed fully up against him and holds her there, caught in his arms as she kisses him back.

If this is all she’s asking for in return for saving his son, Jango's going to make sure it’s the best damn kiss of her long, long life.


End file.
